


take all of me

by eternalheatstroke



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Author is ashamed, Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Choking, Clothed Sex, Deepthroating, Established Relationship, Hair-pulling, M/M, Married Sheith, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Series, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 19:11:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16959861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalheatstroke/pseuds/eternalheatstroke
Summary: It would be too easy to get lost in each other, ripping off their suits and giving into this need singing through them. Keith silently curses the Garrison, Iverson, and all the people he’ll have to play nice with until the early morning when he can let his thirst have its way. He’ll take some solace in the fact Shiro will be feeling the same – it’ll just be that much hotter after simmering all evening.So for now, he’ll behave.Or, Keith's evening doesn't go as planned.





	take all of me

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been a long time coming bc I'm too embarrassed to post it, so thank you Audrey for all your encouragement and Liz for your edits and validation! Ily both so much!!
> 
> Inspired by and named after Partition by Beyoncé.

“Ready?”

Shiro leans against the door frame and crosses his arms, a smile softening his rugged features. He’s already dressed in the all-black suit Keith dug out of the back of their closet yesterday, and he was right – it hugs Shiro’s impossibly broad shoulders perfectly, accents his silver hair. He looks good. 

All to Keith’s benefit, of course. It’s a rare thing nowadays to see either of them in anything other than their flight uniforms.

Keith tears his eyes away long enough to clasp his top button and fiddle with his tie in the mirror. The deep red satin was Shiro’s idea, a nod to his uniform and all that, or so Shiro said. Really, Shiro just likes the color on him, and Keith will let him have that. 

Satisfied with his reflection, he swipes his suit jacket off the bed. “Ready. Car waiting?”

Nodding, Shiro pushes off the wall and sidles toward Keith, drinking him in. He takes his time on the approach, and Keith doesn’t fidget under the attention, but he’ll always appreciate the heat Shiro fixes him with. He pulls Keith in, hands gripping his waist and digging into the thin fabric of his shirt. It’s nearly irresistible. Keith has a hard time thinking of anything other than the feel of Shiro’s hands on him, and fights the need to drag him backwards to their bed, night out forgotten.

Tonight especially, that’s out of the question, though Keith has already tried protesting. The Garrison is expecting them; the fifth anniversary celebration of the end of the war isn’t optional for the Paladins, who are  _ all _ expected to make appearances and schmooze with their intergalactic Coalition guests. That was Iverson’s lecture last month, at least, when both Keith and Shiro pled their case not to go. Rest of the world aside, it’s one of the most important days of the year for them, but Keith will suck it up to “present a united front,” or something.

But. Bow tie undone and jacket fitted like his Atlas undersuit across Shiro’s shoulders, Keith can’t just look and not touch. He lets Shiro rope him in, bodies meeting in a line of heat from chest to waist, and Keith soaks in the feeling, the cedar of cologne and citrus of shampoo. Their eyes meet; Shiro’s are already stormy.

“We should go before we’re late.” His voice is husky and low, and it takes a second for Keith to register what he’s saying. Faces this close and bodies pressed together, his tone vibrates through them, breath ghosts across Keith’s jaw. It smells distinctly of the gin they keep in the cabinet above the fridge.

It would be too easy to get lost in each other, ripping off their suits and giving into this need singing through them. Keith silently curses the Garrison, Iverson, and all the people he’ll have to play nice with until the early morning when he can let his thirst have its way. He’ll take some solace in the fact Shiro will be feeling the same – it’ll just be that much hotter after simmering all evening.

So for now, he’ll behave.

Keith presses into a firm kiss, savoring the sensation of Shiro caving into him, pulling him closer, for just a moment. When Keith pulls back, Shiro follows, chasing before snapping his eyes open to meet Keith’s with a frown.

Recognizing the postponement for what it is, Shiro sighs and brushes his hands down the front of his suit. His eyes crinkle in a smile as he offers Keith his arm. “Well, let’s get this over with.”

Keith catches the note of disappointment in his voice, and can only echo the sentiment. It’s not like he wouldn’t mind being late to the party or missing it completely; small talk has never been his forte, and it’s at the very bottom of his list of enjoyable-aspects-of-the-job. Yet, he supposes there’s something even more enticing about the opportunity to work themselves up over the course of the evening, shoot unassuming glances at Shiro while he’s talking with a Balmeran dignitary, stay just out of reach when he stands next to him during the speeches….

The edges of Keith’s mouth threaten to split into a grin as he accepts Shiro’s arm and they make their way out to the waiting car. He’s shocked out of his flirtatious plans for the night when he sees the vehicle in front of them though. A… limo?

At least the approximation. It looks nearly identical to the long, luxurious cars Keith remembers seeing in old movies growing up. He exchanges a look of surprise with Shiro, but they’re silent as they nod to their driver and slide into the back. The inside is another blast from the past: two benches of black leather seats, ceiling trimmed in muted golden light. In the corner where the seats meet, the drinks holder is stocked with a bottle of champagne, and, after closer inspection, the expensive kind.

They’d been told transportation would be provided, seeing as the Black Lion would’ve drawn too much attention, but Keith had expected one of the standard all-terrain vehicles, honestly.

Shiro seems just as baffled as Keith while he takes in the interior. Fishing out a note wedged between the two champagne flutes next to the bottle, he skims it and looks up at Keith, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. He waves the paper back and forth. “Iverson.”

“No way.” Keith scoots across the seat to pluck the note from Shiro. Sure enough, the message reads  _ Enjoy the night _ and is signed in Iverson’s blocky hand.

Keith has the distinct feeling that he’s fallen into a different reality.

Shiro just shrugs and goes about opening the bottle, twisting the cork with his right hand and waiting for the pop of pressure to avoid a mess. Keith has to take another second to get on board, but when the car starts pulling away from their home he shakes himself. Why not live in the moment? There are worse ways to spend an evening. He leans to the end of the benches, behind the window open to the driver, and fiddles with the radio controls.

Winning a war and all of the rebuilding that comes with it hasn’t left Keith with much time to hone his music taste, and he’ll always prefer the twangy, vintage tunes of his childhood to the obnoxious pop Lance blares during training exercises, but eventually he settles on a station with far too much bass. It vibrates through the seats, the rapid-fire singing the perfect buzz of background noise. Shiro shakes his head in mock-admonishment as he hands Keith his glass.

“I didn’t know you liked this sort of stuff.”

Keith cranks the volume up a few notches to prove a point and shouts back. “I’m trying to enjoy the night.”

Absorbing that information, Shiro makes a thoughtful face before downing his entire glass of champagne in one go. He immediately pours himself another, and Keith stares on, sipping his own.

_ Interesting.  _ They’ve been married long enough that Keith knows when Shiro’s up to something, especially on a night like this. He’s starting to have misgivings that they’ll be able to wait until after the party to get their hands on each other.

Shiro confirms the thought, closing the last few inches of distance between them and leaning into Keith’s space, breath hot against his ear. “Did I tell you, you look stunning tonight?”

Shivering heat creeps through Keith’s body at the complement. His tie is suddenly stifling around his neck, and he takes another sip of his champagne for something to do with his hands. He’ll always marvel at what little effort it takes from Shiro to get him worked up. And Shiro doesn’t stop there.

Moving aside the collar of his jacket, he licks a path from the top of Keith’s shirt to his earlobe, sucking a bruise right behind his ear. Keith nearly drops his glass at the contact, slapping a hand to his neck in shock. He looks at Shiro with his best evil eye – it may be really,  _ really _ hot and making him a little cross-eyed, but they have a rule about this and he’s about forty minutes away from appearing in front of a room full of important strangers he needs to impress.

Shiro has the decency to look sheepish when he pulls away, but undermines the apology when he downs his second glass as quickly as the first. Keith’s glare falters.

Tonight won’t be as planned.

Setting his empty glass to the side, Shiro presses the button to raise the partition between them and their driver without a word. Up till this point, they’ve been mercifully pretending to ignore everything Keith knows they’re seeing in the rearview mirror, but their eyes flick up once before the barrier closes. Flushed with a combination of alcohol, embarrassment, and arousal, Keith raises his eyebrows at Shiro, trying to maintain his surprise, but the desire shooting through his veins is like a drug and ruins the illusion.

“Sure this is a good idea?” Keith teases feebly, but their bodies are already gravitating toward each other. Lips just brushing and breathing heavy, Shiro’s hands are back on his waist, untucking his shirt and pushing past the fabric. Keith can’t catch his breath with the feeling of Shiro’s hands plastered against his skin, rubbing circles into his lower back and pressing under the hem of his pants.

He tugs Shiro in for a proper kiss, Shiro pulling his body closer and rumpling the front of their suits. “You really think I’d be able to keep my hands off of you?” Shiro’s barely audible, his voice lost in the thump of the music. He exchanges words in favor of running a hand up Keith’s abs, his other snaking up to the knot of Keith’s tie and tugging it loose.

Keith is caught in Shiro’s current, head spinning at every touch and ministration. “What happened to patience?” He huffs out and tilts his head back, not enforcing his own words. Shiro’s hand under his shirt reaches his chest, pinching and rolling his nipples between practiced fingers. Gasping, Keith clenches a fist into the front of Shiro’s suit. “We’re gonna be late.”

“Don’t care.” Shiro kisses him again, tongue pressing past the seam of his lips. Keith barely has time to reciprocate before Shiro relents, mouthing down the side of his neck again, hand starting to undo the buttons of his shirt. “I need you. Now.”

Over the music, Keith doesn’t hear the sound he makes, part moan part whine, but he feels it in his bones. Shiro is quite literally all over him, and he’s not about to make him stop, but they  _ are _ in the back of a Garrison vehicle on the way to  _ the _ diplomatic event of the year. Keith’s nothing if not adaptable.

“Show me.”

Shiro’s hands grip Keith’s shoulders and neck, leaving his shirt still half buttoned, and they fall back together. Keith searches out Shiro’s mouth this time, sucking on his tongue roughly. Melted together like this, Keith can feel how worked up Shiro is, hard-on pressing against his pants. Keith goads him on, pressing one hand over the bulge and tangling the other into the back of Shiro’s hair.

Groaning, Shiro shoves back suddenly, eyes absolutely molten in the dim lighting. He knots his fingers in Keith’s hair, yanking with a force that leaves Keith reeling with pleasure. Shiro pulls him off the seat and into the footwell between the benches, Keith’s knees digging uncomfortably into the thin carpeting.

He feels the loss when Shiro lets go of his hair, but as Keith looks up two of Shiro’s fingers prod at his mouth instead. Sitting at his feet, Keith opens and takes them in, alternating between licking and sucking until they’re spit-slick and sloppy. He looks up at Shiro through hooded eyes, mind running wild with the thought that they could be so easily caught like this. After a moment, Shiro removes his fingers, pressing them down against Keith’s bottom lip before retracting his hands. Resting them on the seat on either side of his thighs, he returns Keith’s gaze, silent and heated.

Now Keith fidgets. Shiro stares at him with the same adoration as always, but here, it feels more pressing and urgent. Keith’s legs shake, held up by unsteady knees.

Shiro doesn’t take his eyes off Keith as he slouches down in the seat, spreading his legs wider. Slacks obviously tented, dark flush across his face, and white hair hanging down in his eyes, Shiro is a vision. Keith catalogs each movement he makes, and he’s becoming increasingly aware of his own arousal trapped between his legs.

He gets lost in the moment, and Shiro’s prosthetic is suddenly cupping his cheek, dragging Keith down until his lips graze the fabric concealing his dick. “You know what to do, baby.”

Keith scrunches his eyes closed, feeling a flush bloom across his face that has nothing to do with alcohol or desire. Again, he’s reminded of the thin divider separating them and the driver, the volume of the music no guarantee that they won’t know exactly what’s happening between him and Shiro. He’s suddenly grateful for choosing the loudest music he could find.

He’s nervous to be caught, and embarrassed at the thought, but, for some reason, Keith’s quickly realizing that the potential is oddly electrifying.

Running his hands up Shiro’s thighs, Keith’s palms are dwarfed by the muscle beneath them. He hums in appreciation as the fabric bunches up with the motion, and leans in to grab the zipper. Clasping it between his teeth, he drags his entire body into the motion as he eases it open and slides down.

Above him, Shiro threads his fingers through Keith’s hair, urging him on and stoking the fire between them. Keith looks up as he mouths at the cloth of Shiro’s boxers, breath heavy over the already damp patch. Shiro’s hand tightens its grip on Keith’s hair when Keith unsheathes him from his pants, pulling it out just enough to run his tongue up the length.

“Keith.” Shiro lolls his head back against the seat, mouth open in a silent gasp. His fingers dig into Keith’s scalp, grounding him against the rapid beat of his own heart. Keith’s own moan is stifled as he fits his mouth over the head, holding it steady with his hand as he licks. Methodically, he works his way deeper, twisting his hand and alternating between licking broadly up the sides and swallowing Shiro’s dick into his mouth to suck. It’s a sloppy endeavor in a moving car, but Keith can’t get enough.

His teeth graze slightly on a pull up and Shiro jerks his hips involuntarily, muscles clenching. It catches Keith off guard, and he gags when he can’t immediately catch his breath, tears pricking at his eyes and hands locking down on Shiro’s thighs. It doesn’t stop him, though he’s vaguely aware of Shiro loosening his grip in case he needs to let up. Instead, he works his mouth back down around the base, one hand sliding beneath Shiro’s dress pants and tracing teasing fingers around his hole and balls. Shiro groans again, breathy and worked up in a way Keith is intimately familiar with, bitten-off curses that he can barely make out following close behind.

Forcing his throat muscles to relax, Keith sinks down further, and it’s all the invitation Shiro needs before he’s thrusting up on purpose, short and shallow but angling deep. Keith moves in small bobs to meet each drive of Shiro’s hips, tears streaking his cheeks as Shiro holds him down.

“Just like that, Keith. God you take it so well.” Shiro’s praise sends another rush of pleasure through him, and it hardens his resolve. If this is all Shiro was after, Keith’s going to make it the best blowjob he’s ever had – no awkward or uncomfortable location can stop him. It’s the least he can do until they’re back home for a proper celebration. He falls into the rhythm and motion, forcing himself to breathe through his nose as his mouth becomes just another hole for Shiro to take what he wants.

Shiro picks up the pace, moving in fast, staccato snaps of his hips and Keith knows he’s turning into a drooling mess around his cock, but he can barely open his eyes let alone try to make this look hot anymore.

Just when he thinks Shiro’s getting close, suddenly Keith’s hauled upright. His eyes fly wide as he sucks in air, and worries something’s happened until he’s pulled into Shiro’s lap.

“Shiro?” Keith straddles his thighs now, earning some delicious friction through his pants. He leans in, hands moving to cradle Shiro’s face, but they end up steadying him against the seat when Shiro’s hands release their hold on Keith’s shoulders long enough to rip down the seam of buttons on his shirt, exposing his chest to the cool air of the limo.

Keith doesn’t take the time to be angry at the destruction of his shirt. Shiro alleviates the chilling air with his hands, roaming across his chest and thumbing at his nipples while he drags out a bruising kiss. Grinding his hips down onto Shiro’s lap, Keith moans into his mouth when Shiro nips at his bottom lip.

They’re egging each other on, getting worked up into a frenzy of warm skin and heaving breath. Keith is deeply familiar with this give and take, and he knows what Shiro needs to hear from him before they can move on.

“Shiro, fuck me.” He punctuates it with another grind of his hips, Shiro’s bucking up to meet. “Please.”

“Keith.” Shiro Doesn’t hesitate. Reaching between them, he undoes the clasp on Keith pants in a second and pulls them down over his hips along with his underwear. Like this, Keith’s dick leans against Shiro’s stomach dangerously, already leaking and staining the dark fabric.

Standing just long enough to shake off his pants and shirt all the way, Keith crawls back onto Shiro’s lap, the fabric of his pants smooth against sensitive skin. They get caught up in this, bodies grinding against each other and hands smoothing across limbs and muscles. All Keith needs is the feel of Shiro’s skin against his own and he’s frustrated by the clothes between them but not willing to spend any more time peeling off Shiro’s suit.

Shiro makes the first move this time, turning till Keith’s under him, laid out across the seat. He’s not exactly gentle about it in his haste, and Keith lands against the leather with a thump that steals his breath. Before he can catch it, Shiro is looming low above him and blotting out the dim light of the cabin.

It’s overwhelming in the most thrilling way. Every touch feels like a live wire against Keith’s skin, and he wraps his arms around Shiro’s neck to bring him closer. The drag of Shiro’s suit across his stomach is quite possibly the best sensation he’s ever felt, both tantalizing and not enough.

Shiro’s arms bracket his face on the seat and he whispers things against Keith’s neck that he can’t hear. He never hears the pop of a bottle or notices when Shiro is able to slick his fingers with lube either, but he’s startled when Shiro moves his left arm, trailing down his body till he feels cold fingers teasing at his entrance.

Sucking wet kisses along Keith’s jaw, Shiro praises, “You’re perfect, baby, so good for me.”

He slides the first digit in slowly, but all at once. It leaves Keith trembling, raking his hands at Shiro’s back and unable to get any purchase on the material of his suit. He sees white when Shiro moves, vision blurring in favor of his other senses. Arching his back up and into Shiro, he keens for more.

If this weren’t a string of bad decisions in the back of a Garrison-owned car, Shiro would take the hint, giving Keith exactly what he wants and sinking down to add his mouth to the ministrations of his hand without a second thought. Tonight, he stays sprawled possessively over Keith his tongue and teeth trading a path of bites and soothing heat down Keith’s neck and chest. Keith can only pant and whine at the stimulation, tightening his arms around Shiro and urging him on.

“More, more, more.” Keith is begging by the time Shiro adds a second finger to the first, pleading in beat with the music. Shiro isn’t waiting, scissoring him open in earnest before he can fully adjust. The burn borders on painful in the best way.

A third finger follows even faster than the second, and this time the stretch crosses the line. It’s a thrum of heat that seeps through Keith’s entire body, leaving him lax and pliant under Shiro despite their frantic pace. His eyes roll into his head when Shiro’s thrusts graze his prostate and  _ fuck _ he’s never felt like he could come just from this.

Keith must’ve said something to that effect out loud because Shiro’s fingers abruptly stop. Looking up, Keith almost whines in protest, but it turns into a groan as Shiro withdraws his fingers, leaving him empty. Keith blinks up at the unreadable expression on Shiro’s face, the only giveaway to the restraint his dilated pupils.

“Get up.” Shiro sits back and once again leaves Keith washed in the golden light of the car and exposed to the air conditioning.

He has to lie there and get his bearings back before he can obey the command. He sits up, shoving off the seat on wobbly arms and frowning at the sudden halt, but before he can question Shiro he adds, “Turn around.” Grabbing Keith’s shoulder and pulling him forward, Shiro spins him to face the back of the seat. His knees hit the plush leather and he flings his hands out to brace himself, one hitting the top of the seat and the other landing against the cold, dark glass of the window.

Stepping up behind him, Shiro plants one knee on the seat and a hand on the headrest next to Keith’s own. His entire body thrums with anticipation, mind running away with the thought of being fucked like this. Their little bubble of privacy could pop at any moment, and Keith digs his fingers into the seat to ground himself.

Keith’s vision swims anyway when he feels Shiro press against his hole, only teasing and rutting against his ass. He tries to wiggle back for more, but his position is too precarious so he growls in frustration instead. This time, Shiro listens, pushing in past the rim and not stopping till he’s nearly seated to the hilt. The smooth drive in makes the stretch and friction mind-bending, and Keith smacks his head against the glass, breath fogging the pane.

Tisking, Shiro moves his prosthetic from his firm grip on Keith’s waist and trails it up Keith’s back soothingly, giving him some time to adjust underneath. It sends goosebumps running down Keith’s arms, and when Shiro’s hand reaches the back of his neck it tangles in his hair and grips hard, jerking his head back from the window and arching his body into the seat. Shiro leans in. “Be careful, baby.”

Keith whimpers as Shiro starts to move, fist tugging roughly on his hair with every slap of his hips. Split open and exposed like this, Keith feels on fire from the inside, a bomb about to explode. His dick slides against the seat on every thrust, and has Keith seeing stars, his senses overloaded with the heat of their bodies and the cool, dampness of the window and the sounds of the music and the smell of Shiro’s sweat and cologne.

Now would be a really shitty time to be caught. The idea strips the fun out of their location, and leaves Keith desperate to finish what they’ve started – no interruptions. He clamps his eyes shut at the thought of being caught in such a compromising position, bare and at the mercy of Shiro’s punishing pace. Let the Coalition see their leaders now.

“You feel so fucking good, Keith.” Shiro moans on a particularly hard drive of his hips and buckles over, pressing his face into Keith’s shoulder. His breath is warm against his skin and accents the slower, rolling grind of his hips. Dropping his fist from Keith’s hair he circles the back of Keith’s neck with gentle but pressing fingers. “I want to see you when you come.”

Keith can only nod in response, his mouth open in a prolonged, silent gasp and forehead knocking soundlessly against the window. Pulling out, Shiro leaves Keith empty and clenching down on air again. He grunts in displeasure, but is cut short when Shiro sits down beside him, legs splayed and left hand slowly stroking his cock. He looks up at Keith, still kneeling and leaning heavily against the seat.

Tipping his head back and closing his eyes, Shiro runs his thumb over the head of his dick. Keith digs his fingers into the seat to hold himself upright at the sight. “C’mere.”

Somehow, Keith’s able to reposition himself till he’s straddling Shiro again, raised up on shaky thighs. He’s acting on instinct and need, lowering just enough to take both of their cocks in his hand, sliding them together, and smiles into Shiro’s growl as he locks their mouths in a kiss. Shiro tastes like champagne and he probably tastes like Shiro, but he licks the taste from his husband’s mouth anyway.

Encouraging, Shiro traces his hands down Keith’s sides, eventually grabbing his ass and smacking it with the hard metal of his right. The tingling sensation left in its wake leaves Keith shivering through a punched-out groan, and Shiro kneads at the abused skin. They break their kiss to breathe, panting not registered over the music but felt. Their sweat-slick foreheads stick to one another, a reminder of just how worked-up they are.

“Ride me.” Shiro grinds the words out during a break in the music, and Keith’s hand stutters where it’s still wrapped around them. He could never deny the opportunity to watch Shiro come apart under him while he unravels above.

Lifting off Shiro’s lap so he can line up, Keith doesn’t break eye contact when he sinks back down. At this angle, Shiro is huge inside him, filling him deep and in all the right places. Once he’s fully seated, Keith curses and can’t help shutting his eyes through the roil of ecstasy. He gives a few experimental rocks before sliding off halfway and then dropping back, fast. Shiro’s halting groan is all the encouragement he needs to do it again.

They get into a rhythm, Keith conscious only of the tremble of his thighs and the sparking burn of pleasure at each rise and fall. Distantly, he notes Shiro’s right hand inching toward his hair again, but it’s secondary to his left, holding Keith down by his hips to grind up into him.

Keith loses the rhythm when Shiro’s hand closes around his throat rather than tangling into his hair. Eyes flicking to Shiro’s, all Keith sees is hunger, pupils blown wide and black with lust. He grabs Shiro’s forearm to steady himself, but doesn’t stop him. Instead, he picks up the pace, landing hard on Shiro’s lap.

With each beat of his pulse, Keith feels Shiro’s hand tighten till he’s heaving for air. Between the exertion of fucking himself on Shiro’s dick and his blocked airway, his mind grows cloudy, dazed. It’s good. It’s so, so  _ good _ . He tries to tell Shiro as much, but it comes out as a strangled moan.

“That’s it, babe. You’re so fucking hot.”

Keith can barely hear Shiro, but he notices when he starts meeting him thrust for thrust, driving up into Keith on each of his downward motions. His hand grips harder, cutting off his last bit of air, and Shiro rails into Keith. No longer in control, he pitches forward, too gone to steady himself. The only thing holding him up is Shiro’s arm, but instead of helping ground himself it’s a point of white-hot pleasure. Heat builds like a weight in his belly one moment and a tidal wave the next. Keith’s so blissfully close and wholly overwhelmed that there’s no coherent way to voice it – not that he could.

“Touch yourself.” Shiro’s voice is punctuated by gasps, a rumble that mixes with the bass. He loosens his hold just long enough for Keith to suck in a quick breath before increasing his tempo, hips beginning to stutter erratically as he gets close.

Keith moves his arm from where it’s been splayed over Shiro’s shoulder and reaches between them to grasp his own dick. The new sensation throws him back into that fog, and he jerks himself off rapidly, twisting at the length and thumbing over his head in time with Shiro. He can’t go slowly.

Shiro’s hand tightens around his throat and he tenses beneath Keith as he comes, heat flooding him and pushing him over the edge too. Sobbing with release, Keith comes across Shiro’s chest, the white standing in stark contrast to his black shirt. His hand moves on autopilot until he’s over sensitive and sore.

Dropping his hand from Keith’s throat, landing on his shoulder before smoothing down his chest, Shiro steadies him as Keith swallows lungfuls of air. His chest heaves with the effort and his throat burns; he can’t bring himself to move. Vacantly, his eyes trace the stains across Shiro’s undeniably ruined shirt.

Shiro regains coherency first, wiping away tears Keith hadn’t known he was crying with his hand. He settles it back on his hip and squeezes. “You okay, baby?”

Keith tilt his head just enough to meet his gaze and gives him a lopsided smile. “Heh, I’m great.” His voice comes out like a bark, rough and gravelly.

“I’m sorry, Keith… Fuck.” Shiro frowns at what Keith assumes is a nasty bruise starting to bloom around the top of his throat. Carefully, he shifts Keith off his lap to sit next to him, and Keith doesn’t even register the discomfort now, still running on the high of adrenaline and the afterglow. He’ll probably be sore tomorrow – or in a few minutes.

The music is now the one overpowering stimuli Keith has to contend with, the rough cadence of the song grating on his ears, but it casts off the last of his post-sex haze. Summoning some energy, he reaches across Shiro to turn the radio off, then collapses against his shoulder, absolutely spent. Shiro wraps an arm around him as the limo plunges into silence save for the noise of the engine and street – it makes Keith hyper-aware of what they just did, what a mess he is.

“I, uh, think we have a bigger problem, Shiro.” His sandpaper voice cuts through the quiet and Shiro starts a bit when he pulls away from his worried touches. Keith reaches for his shirt on the floor, button-less and unwearable. He doesn’t even want to imagine putting his pants back on without cleaning off, and it’s not like he can go shirtless to a Garrison event, right?

Shiro takes in the shredded fabric of Keith’s shirt and has the decency to blush. He doesn’t look much better, suit rumpled and stained, hair mussed and wild, but he makes himself busy zipping his pants to hide his embarrassment. They both sit at a loss for a beat, Keith knotting his shirt in his hands anxiously, Shiro rubbing a hand down his face. Not their finest moment.

Peeking out from between his fingers, Shiro grins. “Guess we won’t make it?”

Keith stops toying with his shirt, working to make sense of Shiro’s words. “What?”

“We can’t show up like… this.” Shiro gestures to Keith, still completely naked. “So, guess we can’t go.”

He shrugs like it’s nothing and keeps smiling, but Keith has to do a double-take. Is he hearing this right? Takashi Shirogane is willing to duck out of a  _ required  _ Garrison event?

“You planned this.”

Laughing, Shiro yanks on the bottom of his suit jacket once in some semblance of straightening it and scoots to the end of the seats, he pauses to look back at Keith. “This is supposed to be our night. Get your pants on, and I’ll tell the driver we have a change of plans.”

Keith stares, unmoving until Shiro raises a questioning eyebrow. He scoops his crumpled pants off the floor, sliding into them with a grimace before turning back to Shiro. He’s looking far too self-satisfied, the child-like mischief in his eyes doing things to Keith that shouldn’t be possible.

Shiro hits the button to lower the partition, and looks over his shoulder, eyes just visible under his bangs. “Happy anniversary, Keith.”

**Author's Note:**

> How long was that limo ride???
> 
>  
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/eternalheatstrk)


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